Musings and Mind Readers
by Saturdaychick
Summary: A return to the storyline featuring Erik, Christine and the gypsy boy, Raphael. In this story, Erik watches over the sleeping Raphael who suffers from nightmares.


**Musings and Mind Readers**

Rafe was having another nightmare. Erik heard him cry out and left off the new aria he was working on and silently made his way from the study past his bedroom, where Christine serenely slept, down the stairs and then paused a moment outside Rafe's bedroom, listening, before quietly entering.

The eleven year old boy had kicked off the bed linens and lay curled on his side. He was still now. Erik tenderly stroked the boy's hair and frowned to himself. He knew what kept Rafe from a safe and peaceful sleep. The memories.

He turned away for a moment and grabbed the chair from Rafe's little desk, placing it beside the bed and cautiously sitting upon it, all the while not taking his eyes off the boy. He knew time tended to heal the direst of wounds, both physical and psychological. Love and affection had done Rafe a world of good.

Christine doted on him, taking him with her to the Opera, showing him off in town when she took him out shopping, never failing to return without some new outfit for him, or a new book, as he loved to read. She knew Rafe had not had an easy life before. And she was determined that for all the rest of his life he would never hear a harsh word or ever feel physical pain, again. Not in their house. Nor in the whole, wide world, if she could help it. She was a tigress and Rafe was her adored cub.

And his. Yes, he thought as he reached down for the covers and drew them over the sleeping child, he loved Rafe with a fierceness he never felt himself capable of.

From the moment he heard Raphael's pure, sweet voice coming from the square near the Opera House and then followed him back to the gypsy camp, ultimately freeing him from the cruel master he was in bondage to (his skill with the Punjab lasso aided him in that quest) he had felt oddly protective of him.

They had much in common, after all. Erik, himself, had survived a desperate life at the hands of the gypsies. Eventually, he found his moment and escaped, leaving his own master behind, lying in a pool of his own miserable blood. Erik never felt an ounce of remorse. Nor did he for the bastard who had abused the beautiful, fragile little boy.

As Erik sat watch over his adopted angel, he leaned back in the chair and let his mind wander. He was amazed at the turn his life had taken. Accepted as a world class composer, he was not only welcomed in town, with or without his mask, but also an honored guest at the very Paris Opera House where his former home, 5 stories below the performing stage, now lay still and empty. The famous, mysterious lair of the Opera Ghost, or, as he had preferred to be known, the Phantom of the Opera. Now divested of many of the accoutrements Erik had removed for his new home. Except for his organ, which sat silently, as if still waiting for him to run his hands over its keys.

It had been too complicated to disassemble, at the time, anyway. Erik often thought of it. He had a fancy, shiny, grand piano in the music room of his new home and he was welcome to play the organ

at the church Christine and Rafe often attended when she was in town, and where he, himself, was occasionally badgered into joining them, but it wasn't the same as having his own. He sighed.

"You can't have everything," he thought to himself. "After all, look what you have now, compared to that life in the cellars. What did you long for more than anything in the world? Love. You wanted to be loved for yourself. And you wanted Christine to be the one who loved you." It was a battle to get to this point… where he had the woman whom he loved more than life itself, and the addition of the small boy who thought the world of him. "Be happy. Accept that you are happy and trust that Christine chose you, ME, and is now my wife. MY wife" he found himself smiling at those words.

He looked at the clock that sat atop Rafe's bookshelf, it was nearly 2 a.m. He never slept much, even on the best of nights, especially when Christine was in rehearsals or touring, as his mind often raced with music. Sometimes he thought of all the wonderful things he wanted to do to express his undying love for his wife, like building her a gazebo adorned with roses, and maybe a goldfish pond. When she was home, the great joy of lying beside Christine kept him tethered to the bed. And he slept much more soundly. For him, anyway.

Glancing once more at Rafe, he stood, returned the chair, and made his way back to the bedroom where he undressed, donned his black silk pajamas and crept in beside Christine, careful not to wake her. Before he knew it, sun was streaming through the blinds. He blinked his golden eyes and sat up. Christine was gone, an early riser, as he usually was, himself. He could hear her laughter and that of Raphael's emanating from downstairs, probably from the kitchen, he mused, making the strong, rich coffee he had learned to enjoy years ago in Mazanderan.

But wait. He heard other sounds. A horse and cart, perhaps. Maybe a delivery of some kind. He quickly rose and dressed, pausing to wash and groom himself, before descending the stairs to see what was causing this annoying disturbance. He checked his pocket watch and saw that is was almost 9.

"What is this insufferable racket? Who is disturbing the peace of our sanctuary so early in the morning?" He declared as he followed the noise of other voices coming from the side yard. Now, he stood in the doorway and looked out to find Rafe and Christine grinning up at him, and also looking up at him with annoying smiles pasted to their faces were his two dear friends, Nadir and Antoinette Giry.  
"We have come with a surprise for you, my friend" said Nadir coming up the stairs to embrace Erik, warmly, irritating him greatly, but letting it go, as his curiosity had gotten the better of him.  
"Well, damn it, are you going to tell me… or do I have to torture it out of you?" he muttered at Nadir, who laughed aloud at this.  
"You will have to come and see for yourself." And Erik joined his family and friends and followed them to the little studio he had built for himself at the back end of the house, a place where he envisioned drawing up blueprints or plans for future projects but so far was sitting empty.

There spread out on the floor was his beloved pipe organ in bits and pieces. Kneeling on the ground before it was Father Francois. Erik was speechless as he took in the scene before him. The priest stood up, turned to face Erik and smiling broadly declared "I believe all the parts are here. I know a thing or two about the instrument, you see. When Monsieur Khan and your lovely wife first approached me to help them take apart your lovely old church organ and bring it here so you could reassemble it at your leisure… I couldn't say no. I remember the old church it was from. See, it was signed here by the master craftsman who created it," he

pointed out a carved name at the base of one of the sections. It had been hidden on the inside of the piece, so, he had truthfully never noticed it. It was signed Aristide Cavaillé-Coll. Erik recognized the name, now that he saw it in the light of day. It was the name of one of the finest craftsmen of the pipe organ. Perhaps a very early piece. No wonder he felt compelled to rescue it and rebuild it in the cellars. Its sound was deep and rich. Erik turned once more to the group that surrounded him.

He thought, once more, of the previous night sitting up beside Raphael, and missing making music on the organ. "Are you all mind readers?" he queried. "Yes, yes we are, Monsieur Erik" Raphael laughed, and threw his arms around the Opera Ghost's waist in an exuberant hug. Erik returned the hug, before Rafe darted away to inspect the dissected pipe organ.  
"Raphael is right, my Angel," Erik colored at Christine's public endearment, "I remembered how you caressed the keyboard and the heavenly music you created. I felt you pining for it even as you made such beautiful music on the piano, so I discussed it with Nadir and Antoinette and they suggested we approach Father Francois. Who better to help you to recreate Heaven here on earth, than our friend?" she gestured at the Father, who was again studying the bits of the pipe organ.  
"Who, indeed…" Erik agreed.


End file.
